The Heart that Burned Unknowingly
by Elfanine Drashna
Summary: It's a few weeks after the Reichenbach Fall and Molly can tell Sherlock is devasted, though he hates to admit it. He can't help but maybe think that she is right, he soon discovers that maybe sentiment is not merely a chemical defect after all. Eventual Sherlolly. And only rated K at the most. I think. Sorry! I won't be able to post very often! Sorry, sorry and sorry!
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat in Molly's predictably dainty lounge. Comfortable murky green couches with pink flowers, creamy yellow wallpaper with even more flowers. How quaint.  
He'd have to get used to it.  
Molly had succeeded in assisting Sherlock in his most daring case of them all.  
His very own death.

"What do you need?"  
"You."  
Molly stared at him, her mouth, that he had come to realise was not too small, was shaped in gobsmacked 'o'.  
"Sh-Sherlock-"  
"Molly. Don't stutter. You were doing so well."  
"S-sorry, I can't help it," she swallowed, looking everywhere in the room, even taking much interest in her shoes rather than looking at Sherlock.  
Sherlock stepped closer, Molly's head snapping up in shock.  
"Sherlock. I don't understand..."  
"Which is why I want to explain it to you. Sit."  
Molly hesitantly nodded and dipped he head nervously, shuffling over to the stool by the desk, knotting her fingers together.  
Sherlock strode over to the workspace and sat opposite her.  
"Help me. I need you, Molly, to assist in faking my death."

And that had led him here.  
To a horrible living room.  
It could be worse.  
"Sh-Sherlock!" He heard Molly stutter from the kitchen.  
"What did you do to Toby?!"  
Sherlock let out a small huff as he took his hands from his chin and sat up.  
"Merely offered him some cat food."  
"W-with paracetamol in it? Sherlock!" She complained, walking out into the lounge.  
Sherlock sighed in annoyance, jumping over the pine table in the centre of the room and climbing over the horrid couch.  
He paused beside her and turned his head to face her.  
"It's just a cat, Molly. And a rather dumb one at that," he remarked before slamming himself in the guest bedroom.  
Molly found her fists bunched by her sides.  
No, it's fine. He'll be fine. The cat I mean. Of course you know what you mean, Molly!  
She sighed in defeat, Sherlock victorious, once again. Sherlock always hacked into her thoughts and put her off.  
Molly sighed. Nope, it was all fine. She will help him. After all, he had been cut off from his only friends. Friends. He wouldn't like to admit it but they were.  
"Sherlock?" Molly asked, peeping her head through the door way.  
Sherlock lay on the bed, his feet brushing the end of the bed because of his height.  
His hands we held in a prayer-like manor up against his chin like always. Molly needed a name for that position. Shermonk?  
"Mm?" He hummed in response, making it the only sign he'd acknowledged her presence.  
"Are you going to eat?"  
Sherlock didn't respond.  
"S-Sherlock are you going to eat?" She asked again, her voice wavering.  
"Transport."  
There was silence.  
"S-sorry...what?"  
"No."  
Molly stepped further in to the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.  
"Sherlock, you need to eat," she insisted.  
"I know you've been hurt-"  
"Hurt?"  
"Yes. You're hurt. In your heart."  
"My heart is perfectly fine-"  
"No. Sherlock you just died for your friends! And don't say that they aren't."  
Sherlock finally opened his eyes.  
"They are your friends. You miss them. It hurts in your heart because they're still there. Even though you can't see them for a long time."  
"Molly, you've been watching and reading Pride and Prejudice far too many times lately."  
Molly retreated, nodding awkwardly.  
"S-sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to...it's personal...I understand."  
"Molly," he warned.  
"S-sorry."  
Silence.  
"Well done."  
Molly's head whipped up, her pony tail hitting her back barely audibly.  
"What?"  
"You managed two sentences without stuttering."  
Molly paused.  
"Nevermind. You don't need me to tell you anything. You know it all," she mumbled before leaving.  
Sherlock turned his head to the door as it shut with a creak, hearing Molly quickly scuttle away down the stairs.  
He hauled himself up to a sitting position and tapped his lanky fingers on his knee.  
Maybe she was right. Friends? Friends... In his mind, it didn't sound right.  
It's just those silly romance novels stuck in her head, god forbid she doesn't watch Love Actually, again.  
That sounded right in his head. His head was right. It always was. But then there was something that made him doubt.  
Something, human.  
Something beating.  
Something in his chest.  
Something burning.  
But he didn't quite know.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Thank you! This is my first ever fanfic, yup. First. So I really want to thank the people that have followed and who have reviewed. So, again...thank you!

On with the next chapter dear chums!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooo

Sherlock jogged down the stairs and walked briskly into the kitchen, suddenly stopping in his tracks as Molly blocked his way.  
"Molly," he huffed, looking down at her.  
Molly looked up at him, feigning confidence. She swallowed, shifting slightly.  
"W-what are you doing?" She asked calmly.  
"I'm making tea," he said, smiling briefly to get past.  
Molly watched him, not moving even an inch.  
"Molly," he said, this time dragging out the words almost threateningly.  
"Y-yes...sure," she mumbled, all her feigned confidence shooting off like a rocket and mousy little Molly returning.  
She shuffled to the side of the small kitchen and Sherlock brushed past her, giving Molly a chance to catch of a whiff of his cologne.  
Molly smiled awkwardly at him as he made the tea, that was new.  
"A-are you alri-ight Sherlock?"  
Sherlock turned to her, handing her a cup of tea, just how she always had it.  
"H-how did-"  
"Don't insult my intelligence, Molly," he replied.  
Molly nodded, looking away again, her thoughts becoming more audible than Sherlock's smooth baritone voice which made her melt. His mere presence made her collapse into a pulp.  
"Molly?" Interrupted her thoughts and she blinked, looking up at him.  
"Oh, s-sorry I just...zoned out there," she smiled up at him.  
Sherlock did nothing for moment.  
"Obviously. You haven't taken the mug," he said, still holding out the cup of tea he'd prepared for her.  
"Oh! Ah, thanks," she stuttered, shakily taking the mug.  
She took a sip, perfect. Molly looked up at him.  
"Do you mind bringing home a few things for me?"  
Molly sighed. Of course.  
"S-sure. What do you need?"  
"Just these things," he said, handing her a list.  
Molly nodded, taking the list in her still-shaking hand and glancing over it.  
"These are...disguises," she thought aloud.  
"Well of course they are. What else?" He replied, finishing his tea and pushing the cup onto the bench before quickly shutting himself in the guest room. Again.  
Molly stood there, going over it all.  
"Right, yes. Of course," she mumbled to herself before putting down her tea and pulling on her jacket, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.  
"Molly," came a voice behind her.  
She yelped and spun around, pushing her back giants the door.  
"Oh, it...yes?"  
Sherlock internally laughed a bit at her reaction. Of course it was him.  
"Can you give this to the girl sitting out by the gate?" He asked, holding out a note folded in some money.  
"Uh. S-sure," she accepted, taking it as Sherlock disappeared up the stairs again.  
How does he do that? He always manages to creep up and then I just...  
Molly sighed, replying to her thoughts as she left.  
She would've forgotten about the note if it weren't in her hand.  
Molly glanced around, sure enough, there was a homeless girl sitting against the gate.  
She took a breath before strolling over to the girl and handing it to her.  
The girl looked up at her and took the note, reading it and looking up with a small smile.  
"Thank you," the girl dipped her head and Molly nodded, walking away.  
Molly suddenly kicked herself inwardly. Why hadn't she checked?  
What did the note say?


	3. Chapter 3

Oh forgot to say...I don't own anything...  
Thank you, once again for the reviews. And *facepalm* just realised how much Molly really did stutter. (Thanks for telling me that one!) I didn't really mean for it to be so often but I got kinda tired as I did it about 12am so...sorry about that. This chapter might be full of errors as it's 1am for me but...that's ok. Ah and a few errors here and there because of my silly auto correct! Please excuse them. Also, sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been a bit busy but here it is! Chapter 3  
Enjoy, review and eat cookies.

Molly stared at all the books sprawled across her lounge floor, mostly romance novels.  
She ventured further into what was known to be a pool of books every where and Molly had abandoned the shopping for Sherlock by the door.  
"Sherlock!" She frowned, still staring around.  
Sherlock's head peered around a stack of books, knocking a few over as his charming smile curved his lips.  
"Ah, Molly. Just doing some research. Don't tell me you honestly busy yourself with these sentimental trivias?" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet and brushing past her to pick up the disguises.  
He swept the bags up in his arms and took a few steps to the stairs before glancing at Molly, mouth pulled together tightly in annoyance.  
"Firstly, you just busied yourself with these 'sentimental trivias'," she said, taking another look around.  
"Secondly, my books are to be picked up and put away where they came from," she said firmly, finding new found confidence as she stared at him.  
Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "I'm sure you're more than capable of doing that yourself, Molly Hooper," he smiled briefly, rushing up the stairs and once again, shutting himself away in what had become 'Sherlock's Area'.  
Molly scanned her lounge. "It'll keep me busy," she sighed, giving up and cleaning the mess.  
She picked up the book Sherlock had been reading, noticing he had only just begun reading the book as he was on chapter I.  
Molly cursed, running her finger over the red marker the encircled the letter 'I' and a frown crossed her face. But what did it mean? I, I what?  
Molly decided to hold on to what seemed to be a clue for the time being, finishing her tidying and placing the book in her room.  
She then reminded herself. The note. And the girl? Who was she? What was that all about? Though she wasn't entirely sure she was entitled to know. But who else knows that Sherlock is alive? And then the thought floated into her head.  
Mycroft.  
Molly shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "It's none of your business, Molly," she mumbled to herself. "Besides, you have a mystery of your own to solve," she smiled, fingering the book fondly. The book was The Notebook, one of her favourite books.  
She looked up with a small jump to find Sherlock in her bedroom doorway, staring at her with that stare..that stare she just melted at.  
Molly quickly put the book down and frowned slightly. "Can I help you, Sherlock?"  
Sherlock watched her for a moment.  
"I have to go out tomorrow. Three o'clock," he simply stated, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets.  
Molly nodded, smiling slightly.  
"Yep. Sure, that's fine. If you don't m-mind me asking...where?" She said then quickly added on: "I mean, you don't have to tell me-"  
"I know."  
Molly stared at him. "Right."  
"I'm going to see Mycroft," he said, walking out of view.  
Molly let out a long breath she realised she'd been holding and glanced at the book.  
"And now, to work," she announced, gathering her satchel and keys before heading out the door without another word to the arrogant detective.  
Sherlock sighed as the door shut. Had he given in so easily to the thought of...sentiment? Molly Hooper did certainly have a mystery on her hands.  
It had finally, as John would say, and it made his stomach lurch to think of his great friend, occurred to Sherlock that sentiment might just be a good thing. Might.  
Though, he wasn't entirely sure. Would he continue his charades or retract to his old opinion?  
Only time will tell.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it's taken sooo long! I'm terribly sorry, I have been on holiday so...I'm not sure where I'm going with this chapter or anything but ah...yep. Reviews are welcome with wide arms, I'm trying decide what I might do as a career but I have a while yet to decide...five years...heh.  
Also, I've been wondering, any ideas for more fanfictions I might be able to do? I've been thinking and it would be great it you could help me choose? I can either do a sequel to this one once it's finished or I can do Doctor Who, Harry Potter. Maybe animes? I'm open to suggestions, so please if you have one can you mention it in a review or message? Thanks in advance!  
Oh and I don't anything...all the usual stuff.  
Geronimo! :)

"Brother, here to ask for more favors? You've done well, keeping yourself hidden," Mycroft announced upon Sherlock's prompt arrival, striding into the room with an air of authority, not quite matching to his older brother's.  
"I take precautions, Mycroft. Better ones than you do."  
Mycroft stood, pushing out the capacious wooden framed leather chair from his desk in just one of his extensively secure offices. Of course, furnished with colossal paintings with wide golden frames.  
Out of rare politeness to his brother, gesturing his hand towards a seat located on a forty five degree angle towards the large oak desk. Sherlock however declined the offer with no response.  
Mycroft sat back down, making no effort to pull the chair back to it's original place.  
"We've successfully located two of three. We're having a little trouble with the last..."  
"John's?" Sherlock questioned, finding himself pacing the room, his hands tucked behind his back when he paused, turning only his head to face Mycroft.  
The older brother merely gazed at Sherlock through his observant eyes.  
"Mummy would approve," Mycroft announced, braking the silence.  
Sherlock hummed in response like he almost always did, earning a sigh from Mycroft.  
The brothers stared at each other for a moment, Mycroft with a slightly disapproving stare whilst Sherlock's was that of confusion.  
"You like her, then. That _pathologist_-"  
"Her name is Doctor Hooper. My feelings are not confirmed and are not of your business," he corrected hastily.  
Mycroft angled his head and raised his eyes brows. "Well then." he paused. "I hope you two are happy."  
"She's unaware Mycroft, and the status shall remain so for the time being."  
"Don't get too caught up in this, Sherlock. Avoid her for the time being. You must hunt down that man," he ordered, no longer in the brotherly tone he held previously.  
Mycroft made no effort to speak any further on the subject, Sherlock going silent but his brain ticking furiously with unanswered queries. They could tell that much about each other since childhood and adolescent years.  
"Why?" he asked, Sherlock's irritated and very child-like tone rising.  
"Don't bother with that, brother," Mycroft mused, standing again and handing him some potentially useful information.  
Sherlock snatched it from his firm grasp, striding out with no more words spoken.

Sherlock soon arrived back at Molly's flat, striding in with his lips curled slightly in a manor of distaste.  
He tossed the folder onto the coffee table and sat down a second later in front of the contents that he'd taken out of the folder.  
Molly walked in what must have been a few hours later, during that time Sherlock had gone over the information, stored it and worked with it.  
"No milk left," Sherlock reminded as Molly glanced at him and then at the kitchen, her shoulders slumping as she let out a small huff.  
"You could've gotten some," she said, her tone irritated.  
"You didn't ask me to."  
_Sherlock you smart ass..._  
Molly straightened up, strolling into the kitchen and welcomed with a meow from Toby who was always better company than Sherlock, so long as he didn't scratch her when he didn't get his way. _I could be talking about both of them_.  
Molly crouched next to Toby and stroked him, feeling the irritation pour out of her as she tipped some cat food into his bowl.  
She dawdled back into the lounge and turned on the television, getting a glance of the file before Sherlock pulled it all together and stuffed it away into the brown envelope.  
Molly stood, staring at the screen for a while, displaying the news while Sherlock sighed dramatically and flopped on the couch.  
"I have to go to New Zealand. It seems he's decided to flee that far," he announced, more to himself than to Molly.  
Molly dragged her eyes from the television and looked at Sherlock. "Oh. I see..."  
Sherlock took a deep breath and turned his head to her, finding her staring at him, hands held at her sides with the remote held loosely in one and her eyes searching his.  
"Right. Yes. When?" she said, shaking her head as if to clear it.  
"Soon. Not certain yet."  
Sherlock's brow furrowed and his gaze turned to the television screen, Molly, curious as to what took his attention, followed his gaze.  
"And now we report live to Kitty Riley on the scene of the Crown Jewels."  
The TV flicked to none other than the repellant Kitty Riley in front of the Crown Jewels that had a message scrawled on the glass they couldn't quite make out.  
"Thanks, so here I stand. Richard Brook...lives."  
Sherlock stared at the TV while Molly stared at him.  
"For God's sake," was all Sherlock said.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly's eyes flickered between the screen and Sherlock's face, twisted in absolute anger.  
The remote dropped from her hand, there. He stood. Still.  
"Damn you!" Sherlock yelled, flinging his fist down on the table with a loud thud, making Molly jump.  
Sherlock pulled at his phone, texting furiously.

How did you miss this?!

-SH

Sherlock chucked his phone on to the coffee table and looked up, finding Molly standing, staring at the screen with tears trekking down her face.  
"Molly, don't be...what?" He frowned as she turned to him.  
"Sherlock, he could be watching- no. He could have killed you? Right? S-since with all his people..."  
"Molly..." He said quietly, warning to quite frankly 'shut up'.  
Molly blinked, watching him and then turned-  
"No...darling you stop right there," a sly voice spoke from behind Molly as she turned back to Sherlock, not really sure who the voice behind her was.  
It was a woman's...not Kitty Riley, she'd heard her...it wasn't anyone-  
Molly was snapped out of her thoughts by Sherlock who spoke up.  
"Still working with...him...then?" He spat, looking just past Molly in disgust.  
"Him? Oh you mean Jimmy?"  
Molly tensed, the voice was almost seductive, towards Sherlock. Seductive? Could that be right?  
"Miss Adler, I do not appreciate your presence nor your existence. It's bad manners to enter unannounced."  
Ah.  
Irene Adler. The woman. Molly had heard her name spoken a bit, Sherlock did seem...different around the woman.  
"Not to mention that this is my house," Molly said quietly, attempting to speak up for her own sake.  
Molly's breath hitched as she felt breath on her neck and she shook as a hand was dragged down her arm.  
Sherlock glared at Irene, his hands bunched into tight fists. "Get off her, Irene."  
Irene finally made herself known to Molly and walked in front of her, hands on her hips as she watched Sherlock. "My, my, so...protective!" She said, dragging out the last word with almost a hiss.  
She wore a dress Molly never would even dream of wearing, it was very short, too much for Molly's liking as it held a long V neck down her chest and hardly had much of a back to it. I was a shimmering black with lacy black fabric stretching across her back merging into a solid black in the small of her back.  
Sherlock's eyes were still on Molly as she let out a shaky breath, watching them both uneasily.  
"Jim wants to send his love," Irene said, stepping towards Sherlock, standing an arms length apart from him.  
"Well I decline it. Tell him to get a different valentine. You? Perhaps?" He retorted, screwing up his face in utter disgust.  
"Oh sweetie...so different form that night? Aren't we?" She smirked, her eyes trailing over her shoulder to Molly who bit her lip. Oh.  
"You are not welcome. Leave."  
"Jim will send further information. Maybe you might just get a valentines card? Though, it'll be the only love letter you've ever got. I tried, I really did. Thought you needed some love.."  
"Love is a d-"  
"Disadvantage blah blah blah," Irene sighed. "You will need it Mr Holmes. You already have it but it's locked up in that cold, cold heart of yours," she said, leaving Sherlock to ponder on the words as she move towards the door. "I will show myself out," she said quietly as the door shut with a click.  
Sherlock watched Molly who crumbled onto the couch in a fit of sobs, he ruffled his hair and looked around in frustration, his eyes always flickering back to Molly.  
"Why are you crying?!" He growled suddenly, bringing Molly's sobs to pause.  
"Because you could die. For real," she said quietly, regretting it instantly when Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.  
"Why do-"  
"Because I care!" She said, looking up with watery eyes, Sherlock felt a small pang in his chest at the sight. He ignored it.  
"I thought I was horrible to you," he said, his mouth quirking into a small smirk.  
"You bloody are," she laughed sadly.  
Sherlock's smirk dropped and he watched as she picked herself up to move herself away from his judging self.  
"You always say nice things and it's just so you can get your way!" She screamed into her pillow, once away from Sherlock. Who just seemed to have appeared in the doorway magically.  
"But they are true."  
Molly jumped, sitting up on her bed within an instant, staring at him with the saddest eyes tha-  
No. He had seen sadder. John.  
Molly reminded him of John too often. And it...it made him break.  
"Forget, everything I said, it means...nothing!" He snapped, storming from the room and flinging himself on the couch. To think.  
About John.  
He needed John. He would know what to do.  
Sherlock. Needs. John.


End file.
